


Revenge at its Finest

by possiblyfictional



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cocky Dean, Human Castiel, Sam minds his own business, Sleepy Castiel, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possiblyfictional/pseuds/possiblyfictional
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bad night and a worse morning, Dean won't leave Cas alone. Revenge is necessary, and Dean has the nicer bed.</p><p>Rated Teen for swearing, but otherwise General Audiences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge at its Finest

Cas was pretty sure he was a good human. He knew that he maybe wasn’t the most moral of people - he has fought Dean for the first cup of coffee in the morning and would do it again in a heartbeat - but, according to the brothers, he was a good guy.

So why the hell were they out of coffee this morning? Why did bad things happen to good former angels?

He had woken up with a crick in his neck from the uncomfortable pillow. On top of that, one half of him was baking in an inferno under the covers, and the other half was freezing cold from being exposed to the room with the fan on high. And the whipped cream on the sundae (the cherry on top is no coffee) was that he’d gotten about three hours of sleep.

He’d already raced the older Winchester down the hall to get to the coffee machine before Dean did (the former angel was _sick_  and  _tired_  of Dean competing with him this early, oh Father above). Cas had already nodded his head in Sam’s general direction as greeting. He needed something to settle his nerves.

_And there was no coffee._

“Sorry, Cas, guess you’ll just have to go without until we get some,” Dean said with a slightly victorious tone, as soon as he had seen the nightmare Cas was experiencing. And he was  _smirking,_  the teasing-big-brother grin all older siblings always had mastered.

“Fuck you,” the ex-angel replied, running a hand through his hair as the blonde snorted. Both Sam and Dean knew that he was dangerous without coffee. Ruthless. A terrifying being that was created from grouchiness and irritation.

And Dean Winchester had the gall to tease him.

With a defeated sigh, Cas turned away from the kitchen counter, massaging the sore spot on his neck with one hand. He would find a way to survive this horror, he knew it. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. He rooted through the refrigerator, looking for something to eat.

Cas wrinkled his nose at the jar of iced tea on the shelf. Tea had been made for thousands of years hot, and he had never seen a reason to change it. Sam was an iced tea advocate, and Dean didn’t mind the stuff. This is what Cas believed was the real flaw of the Winchesters - this cold tea isn’t right.

Sam was being very careful to not provoke Cas, because he was smart enough to realize the raven haired man would get revenge. Yet Dean did not have this sense of self-preservation. He was smirking at Cas, leaning his hip against the counter, drinking that stupid,  _stupid_  iced tea (instead of his regular morning caffeine), and the former angel wondered if he would have smited Dean when he still had his Grace.

Probably.

Nothing really seemed appetizing to Cas, so he stopped looking for breakfast and started glaring at Dean from across the kitchen. Sam was typing on his laptop, dutifully not looking up and interfering with the war going on in front of him.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Cas?” Dean said after a moment of silence, smiling cheekily as ever.

“There’s no coffee,” he answered, a bit of sarcasm somewhere in his tone. He ignored the fact that he wasn’t wearing panties, knowing the metaphor.

“It’s only a day until grocery shopping,” Dean replied innocently, and Cas scoffed.

“You fight me for the first cup every day.”

Cas could see that Dean was more and more amused by his responses, and with the crick in his neck becoming an unhelpful reminder of the sleep Cas was lacking in, he turned away, leaving the kitchen, light laughter following him for a while down the bunker hallways. Soon, Cas was back in the hallway that housed his bedroom, hoping to get some sleep.

On the way to his room, the ex-angel passed by Dean’s. Their bedrooms weren’t too far apart, and it made their morning races more fair. Cas was still annoyed about Dean poking fun at him for the lack of coffee, and he was still annoyed about the uncomfortable bed, and for the older Winchester having the sort of cocky attitude that started a fire in Cas’ belly. And he was walking right past the door that contained a bed Dean always said was very nice to sleep on.

Cas walked into the room, shut the door, and locked it after a moment of consideration. His revenge would be simple, and it would be damn fun to do.

Cas was already barefoot and in pajamas because it was morning, and he would stay in pajamas forever if he could (and Cas would love to live without shoes, as well); the bed seemed to be inviting Cas to fall asleep in it. He half wondered if the sheets would smell like the hunter - a mix of cologne and leather. That thought only spurred the man on into slipping under the covers, which were delightfully soft. The pillow was neither too hard or soft, as well as the mattress. Cas deemed it highly unfair that his bed wasn’t nearly this nice.

The covers were then tugged up to Cas’ nose, and he hoped Dean wouldn’t figure out where he was soon. He wanted to rest, in a comfy bed.

Alas, bad things happen to good people.

Just before Cas had drifted off to sleep, warm and content and surrounded in the scent of Dean, someone jiggled the door handle. Then pounded on the door itself. They had roused Cas to wakefulness, and he was not pleased.

“Open up the damn door!” Dean shouted, and Cas groaned quietly. There was more knocking and swearing, then a kick to the door. It didn’t budge, and he thanked the slab of wood for not breaking down when he most needed it to stay strong.

“What the fuck are you doing, Cas, open the door!” he continued. Cas was finding this sort of amusing, and had sat up to watch the door quiver under Dean’s wrath. Dean stopped pounding when something like laughter bubbled up from Cas’ lips. The ex-angel was smiling a little, pulling the blankets to cover his sitting form.

After a moment, Cas spoke up and replied, “I’m going to sleep.”

“But you have your own room. For a reason.”

“You try sleeping in that bed.”

_“Cas.”_

_“Goodnight.”  
_

“Don’t - Sam, get out of here, stop laughing, Cas open the damn door!”

“I’ll be out in a couple hours.”

“Cas! Get the fuck out of my room!”

“I’m just using your bed, Dean. I’m not going to touch anything else.”

“That doesn’t make it better!”

Cas stopped replying, listening to Dean’s incessant demands paired with Sam’s loud laughter from where he had wandered into the hallway. He was warm and honestly content, so he pressed a little harder into the blankets, and fell asleep easily.

Maybe Dean would realize he could pick the lock before Cas woke up. Maybe he wouldn’t. Cas didn’t care either way. This was revenge, at its finest.

* * *

When Dean had picked the lock and burst into the room, more than a little fucking irritated, he was not expecting Cas to actually be sleeping. He had been expecting Cas to be organizing his drawers, or summoning Crowley, or something bothersome. Dean stilled when he registered that the lump under his covers was actually a sleeping Cas, and that’s when Dean was thinking that maybe the bed Cas used really did suck.

Cas would never use someone else’s stuff unless he needed to. Otherwise he’d suck it up and take what he got. Dean thought back to how Cas was barely moving his neck, and was wincing every time he moved. Not to mention the dark circles under his eyes. And the lack of coffee, then general teasing, probably wasn’t actually as funny as it should have been.

Dean sighed the breath he was about to use for yelling at Cas, and instead smiled softly at the mop of dark hair peeking out from under the blankets.

He’d let Cas catch up on whatever sleep he had missed. Then tease the fuck out of him. Yeah, that’s the plan.


End file.
